Charge
by Pi-dantic
Summary: A little interfacing in a supply closet never hurt anyone. ((Reader x C1-10P, Reader x Chopper, PWP, tactile, pnp.)) Warnings: swearing, implication of prejudice against droids, explicit robot-on-organic action (lemon).


**A/N:** Reader is gender neutral and descriptions of genitalia are kept vague. Reader has a shit ton of cyber implants to make droid-fucking more fun tho. My sensibilities about these things definitely hail from the Transformers fandom lmfao

Happy May 4th everyone!

* * *

"I have cables you know," you mutter, the dull ache in your knees disrupting your pleasure somewhat. The metal floor on the bottom of the supply closet is cold and hard, scraping your bones and no doubt staining your pants with motor grease.

You feel a tug on your hair. [Complaining about your position, hrm?]

Your jaw shifts and you look back at your partner as much as you can, your lips twitching. "Not really."

Another tug. Pain prickles your scalp. [Then shut the fuck up and let me finish.]

You snort, reaching behind and digging your finger into a seam. "If you ever get around to it."

You don't do a lot of direct interfacing; your dataport implant just isn't exactly positioned for it. But your astromech partner requested it and you're not one to shy from trying new things. It hurts your knees but feeling his scomp link pivot in the base of your skull and his manipulator arm tangle in your hair is freaking hot as fuck and more than makes up for it.

Chopper has a reputation for being a bit of a prick, and you realize that reputation isn't unfounded because the minute you urge him on he slows down.

You smack him. not real hard (because you're polite, especially to people you're fucking, which is more than you can say for him) but hard enough to get your point across. "You motherfucker."

He warbles, a sound you recognize as astromech laughter, and twists your hair again. You exhale sharply, biting your lip.

"We can't get caught." you say, though you're not exactly concerned. You put an electric bolt on the inside of the door and you've turned ducking people you don't want to talk to into an art form. So has Chopper, probably better than you, if you're honest with yourself.

[There's nothin' anyone can do to me if we do.] Chopper's tone is unmistakably smug. [Unless you're worried what people might think of _you_.]

You snort. "I've never given a shit about it and I don't plan to start."

That's a fair amount of false bravado in those words. It's at least _mostly_ true. You just have a feeling the captain wouldn't take kindly to finding out you were fucking her droid and you'd like to stay on this side of the airlock as long as possible, at least until the ship lands. Oh well, what she doesn't know won't kill her.

[So you're just being impatient then?] Chopper laughs again.

You have a jab about how long it's taking him on the tip of your tongue but then he hits a particularly sweet note in your port, sending shivers down your spine and making you blind to anything but the delicious electricity coursing through your skull. You moan softly instead.

[Ah you like that huh?] He's laughing again but he's clearly distracted. His frame is shuddering.

Your head is glowing, clouding with input and lust. You reach into the seam under his dome and online some implants in your fingers.

He lets out a startled noise, but not an uncomfortable one. Your hair gets tugged again as his manipulator arm twitches involuntarily, but that just makes it more worthwhile to you.

"Suprise." it's your turn to be smug.

[Yeah yeah tactile field generators are nifty, but it's hard to top a port in your head. Everything you could pull out from now on is practically normal.] he's grousing, but he's clearly impressed. Impressed and pleased.

You match the rhythm of him working your port with your fingers, building up a nice steady charge. Already he's beginning to twitch, a litany of clicks and whirrs that mean nothing at all slipping out of his vocoder.

You make a noise that's something of a whine, squirming and grinding against the floor. You're hard and wet and the pressure's increasing by the second and there's just no relief. You shove your free hand into your pants and start groping yourself, rubbing and caressing and oh _gods_ that feels good...

It's not your dominate hand and the motions are graceless but you've already got something good going with Chopper and your tactile implants and you're not about to ruin it, no matter how fucking rude he is.

As it is the mockery and insults are waning. He's singing out hitching purrs, his fans kicking on and buzzing madly. You vaguely hope no one walks by because those fans are _loud_ and neither of you are doing a particularly good job of keeping quiet right now on top of that.

You press your back into him as much as you can, lifting your thin undershirt as you slide up against him. Warm gritty metal envelopes your skin, vibrations course through your body, shaking you down to your bones, and gods you love it. This is what it's all about for you.

It's not a comfortable position but you like how it strains your joints, you like the dull ache underneath all this ecstasy, it makes it feel real and full and besides you wouldn't give up a single part of this perfect, beautiful moment you're drowning in.

Chopper tries to make some snide comment about what you're doing but all that comes out is sloppy, nearly unintelligible curses. You drag your fingers down to a seam around one of his ambulatory struts that's been well guarded by the appendage. The metal is silky smooth there - almost factory new. he mewls without shame.

Your head is singing something holy, some hymn no one but you and your partner know, data flying across cables like carbon angels on electric wings and you're soaring with them, high as a fucking kite. Everyone talks about seeing stars when they lose consciousness, lose control, but oh god you're spinning out and you can _feel_ them, they're living inside your neurons, they're spitting stardust into your veins. Unaugmented organics may look down their noses at the likes of you and Chopper but they don't have a single fucking clue what they're missing. It's like injecting heaven directly into your brain.

You know he can feel it too; in that regard there are no secrets between you now. His intonations are reaching a operatically high note, a shriek worth a choir, worth a symphony. His other manipulator arm snags your shirts strap and he pulls you close by the hair. All your fingers are moving clumsily and all your thoughts are being crowded out of your own head but something barely lucid in you muses that you hope no ones in the remotely same section of the ship as you two because neither of you will be able to smother this.

You both climax at the same time, a cacophony spilling from both of you as you come. The charge bursts and the lucky bastard comes twice, meanwhile you can't take the strain and your fingers go limp before you can finish yourself off.

You slump against him and against the ground. Everything aches but you're still riding quite the high.

All Chopper's systems come back online and he disconnects from your port and rests his manipulators on your shoulders. [Was that good for you, baby?]

You scoff. "It was alright." it's a terrible lie.

He warbles with laughter.

You both lean against each other, him waiting for his fans to stop spinning and you waiting for your lungs to stop straining. You stretched your legs out. You're still uncomfortable.

You glance down at your pants. Your fingers are sticky and you tap them against your arousal, still feeling the throb of something unfinished. You groan in frustration.

[Whatsamatter?]

You snort. "I'm all…wet...hard..." you snap the elastic of your underwear. "I'm one orgasm short."

He chortles. [Oh well. Three outta four ain't so bad, right?]

You roll your eyes. "Easy to say when you went two for two."

You fiddle with yourself and hit something real good down there. You keel, letting slip another moan. You throw him a glance behind you. "Gotta take care of this."

He scoffs. [Well don't look at me. I'm not gonna be responsible for _that_.] he motions to the offending organs in your pants. [Unless you wanna be the one picking organic sludge out of my seams.]

You say nothing for a bit. You keep kneading yourself, pondering. "Don't gotta be direct contact y'know."

He gives a surly yet non-committal noise.

You finally get up, but you don't head for the door. You instead kick some brooms out of the way and push Chopper around against the bare wall.

[Hey, hey, _fuck_ , take it easy you fucking asshole!]

You laugh.

He turns his dome towards you, snarling. [You think this is funny? I'll shock the shit outta you!]

You lean in, chuckling as you press the full weight of your body against him. It's not enough to actually pin him if he doesn't want to be pinned, but it's sure fun to indulge in that illusion. Your flesh presses into his chassis. "What makes you think I wouldn't like that?"

He says something petulant and vulgar but you notice he doesn't make any move to resist as you run your finger along another one of his seams.

You mutter in his audio receptor. "Listen, I'm just fixin' on a little ruttin', just to get rid of this," you snap your waistband again. "And then i'll go. Its up to you but id sure _appreciate_ it." you flick out your tongue over his antenna.

He shudders. [What's in it for me, ya filthy freak of nature?]

You boot up your tactile generators again, this time running two fingers up and down his antenna. A full body tremor erupts over his frame.

[...alright. works for me.] he tries to sound only casually interested but there's a bit of staticky strain at the end of his inflections.

You smirk and shove him flush against the wall.


End file.
